


Cookies

by BlushLouise



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Cookies, Gen, because Cliffjumper deserves some loving too, crackalackalicious cast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16519235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: Hot Rod is making cookies. Cliffjumper is drafted to help.He doesn't mind, really.Set inLadyDragon76's Crackalackalicous-verse.





	Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladydragon76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crackalackalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/392338) by [ladydragon76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76). 



> This piece came to be mainly because of [this pretty picture.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596545/chapters/16488874) This handsome boy pretty much haunted me for a solid week until I'd come up with this.  
> Also, Cliffjumper totally deserves some loving.

It was too early.

Way, _way_ too early.

Not that his blasted neighbors seemed to care. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with their squishy human bodies. There could be no natural reason for _anyone_ to desire that much interfacing.

And why the frag did they all have to be so loud!? He was of half a mind to sleep in another building, but if he did, there’d be no one to watch the ‘Cons.

And with so many Decepticons sleeping on the same floor as the Prime, that wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

So instead, Cliffjumper stumbled down the stairs, via the rest rooms, aiming for the rec room couch. He would have gotten there too, if it hadn’t been for the smell coming from the kitchen.

“What in pit are you doing?”

Hot Rod looked up and grinned at him. He was wearing a big, green apron with the words _Kiss the cook_ on it, and there was a light dusting of some form of white powder across his nose and lower arms.

“I’m making gingerbread men! Want to help?”

Cliffjumper could feel his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. “You’re doing _what_ now?”

“Making gingerbread men,” Hot Rod explained, gesticulating to the baking paraphernalia in front of him. “Or gingerbread figures, I guess, since there are robots and women and babies and reindeer and puzzle pieces and such too.”

Cliffjumper blinked and shook his head. It didn’t help. “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“Yeah. I need to be done before everyone gets up, or it won’t be a surprise.” He looked back up at Cliffjumper. “Want to help? There are plenty of cookie cutters for the both of us to use.”

He stared for another moment. Then he shrugged. “Why not? Do you have another apron?”

“There’s a few in the cupboard.” Hot Rod pointed. “And wash your hands.”

Cliffjumper pulled out another green apron that actually complemented his hair rather nicely, and put it on. As he turned back, Hot Rod snickered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” A flour-covered hand waved towards Cliffjumper’s abdomen. “It suits you, that’s all.”

Cliffjumper glanced down at his apron. He laughed.

_I’m not short. I’m concentrated awesome._

“That is brilliant.” He went over to wash his hands. “I’m never giving this one back.”

“Good thing there are more of them then.” Hot Rod smiled. “Ready?”

“I guess.” He stood next to Hot Rod. “What do I do?”

“It’s easy. You take one of these lumps of dough. I’ve kneaded them and stuff, so all you have to do is flatten them with this rolling pin.” Hot Rod demonstrated. “When you get it about yay thick, stop flattening and start cutting. You use these little things. Sharp side down. Try to get them as close together as possible so we don’t have to do it that many times.” He pointed at the row of baking trays standing ready. “Then the cookies go on there, and in the oven for ten minutes.”

“O-kay.” Cliffjumper cracked his knuckles. “I think I can manage this.”

It didn’t take long before he too had flour in his face and all over his arms. Hot Rod laughed at him, and Cliffjumper retaliated by throwing a handful of flour over Hot Rod’s hair.

The effect was rather nice.

It was actually fun. Cliffjumper quickly hoarded the cutters he liked best – a robot, a car, a tree (because it made him think of Hound), a star, a puzzle piece and a man. Hot Rod got the rest, which meant he had to make do with the women and children and bird-people and all the organic animals. There was one little piece shaped like a fish which they kept passing back and forth, since it was the only one actually fitting along most of the edges.

“You’re doing well,” Hot Rod said, glancing over at him. “You’ve soon caught up to me.”

Cliffjumper shot him a teasing grin. “That a challenge?”

Hot Rod stared, then grinned back. “Oh, you know it is.”

It turned into a competition. Not only of who got their trays filled first, but who used the dough most efficiently, and with the most different cutters.

The tenth tray of cookies was in the oven when Hot Rod finally admitted defeat. Cliffjumper was gracious in accepting his surrender, of course, even though he knew he’d won three trays ago.

“I’m beat,” Hot Rod groaned. “And we still have these pieces left.”

“They’re just leftovers.” Cliffjumper shrugged. “Hey, we can just make one big lump, flatten it and make a big plate or something? Like one of those bowey things you were making a lot of?”

“A big heart?” Hot Rod straightened from his slouch against the counter. “That’s a good idea. And we can write everyone’s name on it.”

Cliffjumper didn’t like that part of the idea overly much. But it seemed to be important to Hot Rod, and Cliffjumper was having too much fun to really care.

Together, they worked the final pieces together into one large, flat pane. Hot Rod managed, through some feat of dexterity that Cliffjumper actually hadn’t thought the kid capable of, to slide it onto one of the baking trays. Then he found a knife and sliced off the excess dough, leaving a large heart-shape behind.

“What do we do with these?” Cliffjumper wondered, picking up one of the cutoffs.

Hot Rod winked. “We eat them.”

Cliffjumper raised an eyebrow at him. “ _Eat_ them? They’re not cooked. Or baked. Whatever.”

“That only matters if you eat a lot,” Hot Rod informed him. He pulled off a small piece and popped into his mouth. “Sarah says that tasting during the process is an integral part of the experience, and that you don’t get sick from eating dough unless you eat a lot of it. And even then it’s just a stomach ache.” He smiled. “Go on, try it. You’ve earned it.”

Frowning skeptically, Cliffjumper pulled off a tiny piece and put it in his mouth, tasting it. “Huh. This is actually quite good.”

“Told you.” Hot Rod grinned. “Have some more.”

They stood there in companionable silence, munching cookie dough and surrounded by the smell of fresh-baked gingerbread men, and for the first time since he’d landed on this planet Cliffjumper felt at peace. For a few moments, standing there with a friend in the pre-dawn quiet was everything he needed.

Of course, the moment passed.

“Let’s clean up,” Hot Rod said, swallowing the last of the cookie dough. “I’ll wash off the counter tops if you can get the finished cookies into these boxes.” He dumped a large bag full of small metal boxes in front of the finished cookies.

“What,” Cliffjumper said flatly.

“You know.” Hot Rod waved a hand at the bag. “One box for each mech, plus one box for each human. A lot of boxes. We should have enough cookies. Just place them out and put an equal number of cookies in each.”

Cliffjumper sighed. “Fine. I don’t see why they should all get cookies, but fine.”

“Everyone deserves cookies,” Hot Rod said easily. “It’s Christmas.”

Cliffjumper grumbled, but began putting the boxes out. “There’s no way to tell who gets which box, is there?”

“There isn’t.” Hot Rod frowned at him. “And if you sabotage my cookies, you won’t be eating safe food for a good while.”

Cliffjumper stared at him. “You mean that.”

“I do,” Hot Rod said firmly. “You have no idea how long it took to make that dough, or to knead all of it. My shoulders felt like they were breaking apart. So if you mess with them, I’ll cheerfully poison you.”

Cliffjumper was speechless for a moment, then chuckled. “Way to channel your inner Sarah. Fine.” He started putting fish cookies in boxes, one fish in each box, then moved on to trees. “I’ll behave.”

“Good.” Hot Rod was his happy, silly self again, wiping down the countertops and putting the trays away. The cookie cutters were washed and dried and the rolling pins put away before Cliffjumper put the lid on the last box.

“The big heart needs to cool completely before we can decorate it,” Hot Rod said, sliding the still soft giant cookie off the tray and onto the counter top. He took a small glass and cut round holes along the top edge. “So we can hang it up,” he explained when Cliffjumper raised an eyebrow. “Here.”

Cliffjumper caught the little cookie circle, blowing on it to cool it down before popping it into his mouth. “This is really good!”

“Thanks!” Hot Rod beamed. “Help me put these boxes on the tables?”

That turned into a race too, both of them giggling quietly as they ran between the counter and the tables with their arms full of boxes. Cliffjumper dumped his last box and turned to race back to the counter, but Hot Rod was there before him, snagging him by the arm and overtaking him with a very exuberant though surprisingly quiet whoop.

“Guess I win!” Hot Rod was grinning and leaning up against the counter. “And that makes us even?”

“Sure,” Cliffjumper agreed. He looked at the big heart. “That thing cold yet?”

At Hot Rod’s confirmation, they dug out the icing tools and used one of the leftover cookie men to practice.

The result was… weird.

“Well, I think you’re better than me, but not by much,” Hot Rod said. “Your lines are at least somewhat straight. Try to write your name.”

Cliffjumper tried, he really did. But instead of saying ‘Cliffjumper’, the icing just looked like a puddle.

Hot Rod sighed. “We need Sarah.”

“Need me for what?”

“Oh good! Good morning!” Hot Rod chirped. “You can write names in icing, right?”

Sarah chuckled and walked up to stand between them. “I can try. You need a thinner nozzle. Here, hold this one for me.”

Cliffjumper found himself with an armful of human sparkling. For a moment, he froze, just staring at the infant, and she stared back. Then she giggled.

“Which names?” Sarah asked.

“All of them,” Hot Rod said proudly. “Everyone you can fit. We made cookies.”

“I know, honey,” Sarah replied, smiling and icing Hot Rod’s name onto the giant cookie. “I could smell them all the way from our room. That’s very sweet of you. Both of you.” She shot a smile at Cliffjumper, too. “Relax, sweetie. She likes you.”

“It’s probably the hair,” Hot Rod giggled.

“I think it’s the flour on your nose, actually,” Sarah said, before Cliffjumper had the chance to be annoyed. “You both need a wash.”

Cliffjumper shrugged. “I’ll deal with it later.”

He moved slightly away from the icing process on the counter. At a glance, it looked like Sarah had it covered. At least if he was to judge by the fancy spin she put on Ironhide’s name.

The sparkling cooed at him, reaching up to touch.

“You’ll get flour on you,” he warned. “And then you’ll need a wash, too.”

The sparkling just giggled again.

Cliffjumper glanced back. The others were still icing.

So he shifted the sparkling slightly, supporting her back better, and carried her over to the tables.

“See all the pretty boxes?”

She cooed, wide-eyed.

“We filled them up. Me and Hot Rod.” He leaned down, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “There are cookies in there.” He nodded at her serious look. “There are. I promise. I don’t know if you get to taste any, though. I’ll leave that up to Sarah.” He picked up a box, showing it to the sparkling. “See? It’s got animals and things on it, for Christmas. I don’t know where Hot Rod got them. They’re pretty, right?”

Annabelle cooed, swatting at the box. Cliffjumper pulled it away, chuckling. “No, tiny. That’s not for you. Tell you what.” He put the box down and turned away. “When I’ve eaten my cookies, you can have my box. Okay? No, don’t pout.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something soft. “Here. You can borrow this one.” He darted a glance at the two cookie decorators bending over the giant heart, and seeing they were both preoccupied, nuzzled quickly at the sparkling’s head. “It fell of the Christmas tree. I’ve been meaning to fix it, but I keep forgetting.”

Annabelle giggled and smacked him over the cheek with the stuffed candy cane.

“Careful there, tiny.” He chuckled. “I need my head intact.”

He bounced her gently as he walked, pointing out everything that had bright colors or glitter og might otherwise be of interest to a sparkling.

He felt he was doing rather well.

They’d gone all the way around the Christmas tree when voices started coming from the kitchen. Cliffjumper walked back there quietly. If those were ‘Cons, he didn’t want them to see him yet.

Plus, he had the sparkling. He had to protect her.

But it was just Autobots, still. The Aerialbots were crowding around the heart that Ironhide was hanging up on the wall, using lots of loopy red ribbon, and Ratchet stood behind them, chuckling. Hound was talking to Hot Rod and Sarah over by the counter, and the Prime was in the doorway, smiling.

He looked so happy that Cliffjumper forgot to look where he was going.

“Watch it, slagger,” someone sneered.

Cliffjumper growled back, turning towards the threat and cradling Annabelle closer.

Sunstreaker stared the sparkling. When he looked back up, he was snarling. “Why do _you_ have her? Give her here.”

“Back off,” Cliffjumper bit back. “You’re scaring her.”

“ _You’re_ scaring her,” Sunstreaker retorted. “Don’t know what you think you’re doing, but –“

“Sunstreaker.” That was Ratchet, frowning at the both of them.

He was probably coming to defend his _mate_. The word left a bad taste in the back of Cliffjumper’s mouth.

And now everyone was staring at them. Great.

Even with that, there was no way he was giving the baby to Sunstreaker. The mech – man – was barely in control. The kid would get hurt.

“What’s Cliffjumper doing with Annabelle?” Sunstreaker demanded, fairly loudly.

Cliffjumper moved sideways, away from the blond warrior’s reach.

“I’m minding her, slagger.”

“The pit you are. Give her here.”

Suddenly, there was a soft mass of long hair between them. “Knock it off,” Sarah said sharply. “There’ll be no arguing over my baby. Sunstreaker, Cliffjumper’s got Annabelle because I asked him to hold on to her for me, and he’s doing a great job. So back. The hell. Off.” She turned, addressing the room at large. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. There’s no one here who’s not allowed to hold Annabelle. There’s no one here I don’t trust to take care of her. But if you make a fuss of it, if you fight over her, if any of you scare my baby girl like that, you’re banned from baby cuddles until you’ve proven that you can be good. Got it?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sarah” met her words.

“Good.” The woman turned towards Cliffjumper and smiled at the sparkling in his arms. “’Jumper taking good care of you, pixiebutt? Yes he is, isn’t he? What’s that you’ve got?”

“It’s a decoration from the Christmas tree,” Cliffjumper mumbled. “It’s soft and smooth, I checked it.”

Sarah smiled at him. “It’s fine, honey. Don’t let her chew too much on it, though. Mind holding onto her for a while longer while I help the others whip up some food? You and Hot Rod are exempt from breakfast duty because of the cookies.”

“Cookies?” Fireflight exclaimed. “There’s cookies?”

“Gingerbread cookies,” Sarah confirmed, winking at Cliffjumper. “Courtesy of our two resident elves.”

“Elves?” Skydive’s dark eyebrows were climbing towards his hairline.

Sarah nodded. “Elves. What else would you call someone who gets up before the crack of dawn to make presents for everyone?”

“There’s a box for each person on base,” Hot Rod supplied helpfully. “And a few to spare.”

Most of Hot Rod’s words were swallowed by the loud squeal of eager Aerialbots descending on their cookie prey. Fireflight snatched his box up and ran into the hallway with it, shouting for Bluestreak and Starscream and everyone to come get theirs. Optimus grinned and tossed a box clear across the room for Ironhide to catch.

Cliffjumper pressed back against the wall as Fireflight stormed back in with a bunch of others on his heels. When the crowding had eased some, he pulled back to the Christmas tree again.

“Chaotic, huh?” He nuzzled Annabelle’s head again. “Who’d’ve thought everyone would be so excited about cookies?”

“It’s candy,” a familiar voice supplied. “They’re always excited about candy.”

Cliffjumper turned towards Wheeljack. “I guess. Hot Rod did good, too, the cookies are really tasty.”

“I know.” Wheeljack grinned and held up his own box. “I’ve tried them.”

Hound walked up, smiling. “This is great, ‘Jumper.”

“Hot Rod did all the work with the dough and stuff,” Cliffjumper confessed. “I just helped with the actual cookie cutting.”

“And it would have taken me three times as long if you hadn’t,” Hot Rod supplied, coming up behind them and patting Cliffjumper’s shoulder. “So, thanks for that. Elf.”

“You’re an elf,” Cliffjumper shot back with a grin.

“Am not. Your hair is redder than mine.”

“That’s not the deciding factor. You’re more helpful than me.”

“How about we just say you’re both elves?” Wheeljack chuckled. “You both have the hair for it.”

“Yours is full of flour, though,” Hound commented, brushing a bit of white powder from Cliffjumper’s head. “You’re white-speckled.” He smiled, making Cliffjumper’s spark take a funny turn. ”This was really nice of you.”

Cliffjumper managed to smile and shrug. “Glad people seem to like it.”

Annabelle cooed, and Cliffjumper nuzzled her again. “Yeah, you too, tiny. We’ll ask your mom about that cookie if you – oww, let go!”

Annabelle giggled, completely refusing to loosen the double-fisted grip she had on Cliffjumper’s hair. He couldn’t do anything but follow her grip, tiny hands pulling his head down, and as he groaned he’d swear that giggle was diabolical.

“Be nice to Cliffjumper,” someone laughed. Warm hands gently peeled the small fingers away from the bright red strands. “Come on, Annabelle, let go. It’s not nice to pull someone’s hair.”

The baby was lifted out of his arms, and Cliffjumper straightened his neck to see Bumblebee grinning at him. “You okay?”

“Fine.” He rubbed his sore scalp. “Had worse.”

“I think she pulled some of your hair out,” the scout mused, lifting one small fist to examine the bright red strands. “Yeah, she did. Naughty girl.” He lifted her slightly towards Cliffjumper. “Want her back?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, keep her. I should go wash up anyway, and get some breakfast.” He glanced at Hot Rod. “So should you. You still have flour in your hair, too.”

Hot Rod laughed. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Cliffjumper stared at him pointedly. “I’m not the one who decided to make cookies.”

“Fair point.” The kid grinned. “So, race you? Tie-breaker?”

Cliffjumper smirked. “You’re on.” He turned and ran, not waiting to see if Hot Rod followed.

“We’ll save you some cookie boxes!” Bumblebee called after them.

“You’d better!” Hot Rod hollered back. “Or we’re not making more cookies!”

Cliffjumper laughed. He had a feeling he’d been roped in as Hot Rod’s favored baking partner, and that it would be a regular thing.

It didn’t sound too bad.


End file.
